


February

by lemonsorbae



Series: Shoe Box Verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Smut, drunk!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:53:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1255333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsorbae/pseuds/lemonsorbae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Cross posted from <a href="http://jimmynovakisaved.tumblr.com/post/78259104470/february">tumblr</a><br/>. Sorry it's late. I struggle.</p>
    </blockquote>





	February

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posted from [tumblr](http://jimmynovakisaved.tumblr.com/post/78259104470/february)  
> . Sorry it's late. I struggle.

Late February brings an unexpected flurry of snow. The thick white flecks fluttering down from the sky can barley be made out past the sheet of ice clinging to their window panes, but it’s the first thing Dean notices upon awaking early Monday morning and he groans into his pillow at the sight.

The snow doesn’t necessarily bother him on days he doesn’t have to leave the building. Sure it casts a chill through the apartment that’s almost impossible to knock, but that typically results in Castiel turning part octopus in the night and clinging to Dean like it’s Cas’ job to keep them both warm, and really that’s not so bad. But on days like today when he has to trudge around in it, shovel it off the sidewalk and scrape it off his baby, when the opportunity to stay in bed all day with Castiel’s body draped over his own is not an option, the snow becomes Dean’s own personal demon.

"When I’m done with school," he mutters to the air above him, "we’re moving to Bermuda."

With an irritated sigh Dean shifts in bed, rolling over until he can blink over Castiel’s shoulder at the digital alarm clock on the night stand, and waits until the numbers settle into focus. When they do he realizes his alarm won’t go off for another thirty minutes or so and suddenly the thought of hunkering back beneath the covers and settling himself against the sleep warm man next to him becomes all too tempting.

Almost as if he can sense Dean’s train of thought Castiel shifts closer to him, his warm palms coming to rest underneath Dean’s undershirt at the small of his back, and only further intensifying the compulsion to lie back down for half an hour until his alarm  _does_  go off. He smothers the responsible part of his brain telling him he needs the extra time to shovel out the Impala and threads his fingers into the hair above Castiel’s ear. The guy hasn’t had a haircut in a good couple of months, the long, dark locks unruly as ever, but Dean secretly loves the way it’s beginning to curl around the backs of his ears and at the nape of his neck. And besides that the longer Castiel’s hair gets the easier it is to tug on when things get interesting between the two of them which Dean kind of likes. A lot.

Dean presses a kiss to Castiel’s forehead and Castiel sighs in his sleep, the small breath of air hitting Dean’s throat and doing nothing to help get him out of bed. After a few seconds though, the reasonable thoughts resurface and niggle at Dean’s conscience until he’s rolling out of bed with a groan.

He sits on the edge of their bed waiting for the grogginess of the weekend to clear from his brain and Vincent comes to twine himself around Dean’s ankles, purring deeply as he rubs a cheek along Dean’s shin. Dean reaches down and scratches behind the cat’s ears while a twinge of jealousy curls through him.

"Lucky bastard," Dean mutters, "get to stay inside and hang out with Cas all day."

Vincent meows, a short, smug response, and then Dean is standing and shuffling his way into the bathroom.

He’s digging through his and Castiel’s dresser for something warm enough to wear when the text message from Bobby comes through.

_SNOW DAY_ , the message reads,  _Don’t any of you idjits even think about braving those roads today. School cancelled until further notice._

A rush of gratitude surges through him as he reads the message and he fires off a quick,  _Thanks_ , before dropping his towel on the floor next to the dresser and eagerly climbing back into bed. The sheets in his spot are cold now and so he pushes into Castiel’s spot a little, melding their bodies together, pressing his chest against the other man’s back and wrapping his arms around Castiel’s middle.

Absently Castiel pushes a warm leg between Dean’s own and his breathing lightens. After a few seconds his deep voice cracks through the apartment, the vibrations of it rumbling through Dean’s chest as he speaks.

"Dean," Castiel murmurs, "are you unclothed?"

"Yep," Dean replies shortly with a tired smirk on his face. He knows the other man can’t see it, but it’s just as apparent in his voice as it is on his face.

Castiel wiggles a little closer, his ass rubbing teasingly against Dean’s dick before mumbling, “Thought so,” and then he falls still and Dean knows he’s drifted back to sleep.

Dean presses a kiss into Castiel’s wild bed head and closes his eyes. Sleep claims him quickly.

Dean sleeps in until just after eleven. When he blinks awake for the second time that day he finds Castiel positioned against their headboard, his gaze trained on Dean’s face as he slides a piece of charcoal across a page in his sketchbook.

"Hey," Dean says, his voice coming out sleep thick as he rubs at his eyes with his fingers. After a few years of waking up to Castiel’s blue eyes scanning his face with a curiosity swirling in their depths he’s finally grown used to being watched while he sleeps.

"What are you doing home from school?" Castiel asks in response, his eyes flicking to the page in front of him.

Dean shifts an arm behind his head, allowing his eyes to slide closed again. “I’ve got a snow day,” he explains, “It’s kind of a blizzard out there.”

"I hadn’t noticed," Castiel admits. His voice is quiet, detached almost, and Dean knows Castiel is only focusing a small portion of his attention on the conversation. Dean listens to the soft skritch of Castiel sketching for a few seconds and then opens his eyes again, craning his neck so he can look up at Castiel.

"You hungry?" Dean asks.

"Don’t move," Castiel says in response, "I’m almost finished."

It’s then that Dean registers how cold he feels and he glances down only to find their comforter is pooled low around his waist, slipping off one thigh and barley concealing his cock in the folds of cotton covering the lower half of his body.

"Fuck, Cas," Dean mutters, "could have at least bought me dinner first."

"It’s art, Dean," Castiel quips, his eyes never leaving his sketchbook.

Dean shakes his head, a minute movement that Castiel either doesn’t notice or decides not to comment on, and then focuses his attention on Castiel’s long, charcoal stained fingers as they work an image onto the page.

After a few minutes, when the other man looks like he’s nearing satisfaction on his work, Dean rolls over and tugs the sketchbook out of Cas’ hands, tossing it to the ground with a flutter of pages and a soft thud. He wrestles Castiel into the pillows on their bed and leans over him, pressing their lips together, kissing away the protest that lingers on the tip of Castiel’s tongue.

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel breathes when Dean pulls away.

Dean offers the other man a cheeky grin and another quick kiss before saying, “You were finished, right?”

"Yes," Castiel admits, "but I didn’t say you could move."

Dean pushes his nose against the underside of Castiel’s scruffy jaw before placing a kiss in the soft hair there. “Sorry, babe,” he says, his voice anything but apologetic, “you were just too tempting.”

"You’re completely insufferable." Castiel responds, tilting his chin up to give Dean better access to the sensitive skin Dean’s nuzzling at.

"I like it when you talk dirty," Dean shoots back and Castiel huffs above him.

They stay pushed together for a few more moments, Castiel’s fingers slicing through the hair at the back of Dean’s head as Dean sucks a bruise along the knob of Cas’ jaw, but when Dean’s stomach lets loose an angry growl they pull apart.

"Lunch?" Dean asks offering Castiel a sheepish grin.

Castiel pecks him on the lips and then agrees, “Lunch.”

After they’ve eaten Castiel showers while Dean digs through the boxes stored in their coat closet in search of the boxed set of Dr. Sexy MD DVDs he’d scored at a garage sale a few months prior. Instead he finds a box his mom had sent him home with awhile back that he’d never gotten around to going through.

It’s old, still taped closed and with Dean’s adolescent, chicken scratch handwriting on the side, probably from his family’s move from Sioux Falls to Lawrence when he was just a kid. Dean pulls it out of the closet and carries it into the living room setting it on the floor and pulling the tape off of the lid.

"What’s that?" Castiel asks, padding into the living room with dripping hair and a towel secured around his waist.

"One of my old boxes," Dean answers as he tears into, pausing only to look up at Castiel and ask, "Hey do you know where those Dr. Sexy DVDs are?"

"I leant them to Anna a few weeks ago," Castiel answers as he approaches their dresser.

Dean temporarily forgets the box, his gaze snapping to Castiel’s retreating back. “You what?!” he sputters.

"Relax, Winchester," Castiel says as he bends over the drawers and begins pulling articles of clothing out. The sight of him half naked with his ass waving around in the air is making it incredibly difficult for Dean to stay irritated with him. "She’ll take care of your beloved Doctor."

"She better," Dean mutters and then his attention is back on the box and he’s pulling back the flaps, revealing the contents within. As soon as he sees what’s inside, Dean’s hit with a wave of nostalgia that washes over him in a quick burst and leaves him with a small grin on his face. He reaches careful hands inside and begins to pull things out as Castiel dresses and then joins him in the living room.

There are several board games inside, LIFE, Guess Who, Battleship, and a stack of comic books Dean remembers being quite attached to, a bunch of old photos, some of he and Sam running around their old house in Sioux Falls, a few others of him with his old wrestling team, and  _Star Trek V: The Final Frontier_  on VHS.

Castiel immediately grabs for the old photos and begins sifting through them as Dean pulls the rest of the contents from the box.

"I didn’t know you wrestled," Castiel admits, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

Dean nods, “Until I was seventeen,” he answers.

"Were you any good?"

Dean shrugs, “I did okay in my weight class,” he explains, “but for me it was more fun than competition.”

Castiel fixes him with a knowing smile, “I’ll bet it was,” he states.

Dean yanks a throw pillow off their couch and tosses it at Castiel’s head, but Castiel bats it out of the way easily and continues going through the photos with a smirk of glee on his face.

Dean doesn’t even want to know what sorts of humiliating pictures are in the stack in Castiel’s hands.

After a few minutes Castiel is handing back the photos and eyeing the other items Dean’s pulled out curiously. Dean picks up one of the board games at random and shakes it, pieces rattling against the insides, and then holds it up.

"You wanna play Battleship?" he asks.

Castiel eyes Dean, a look of seriousness crossing his face as he asks, “That depends, Winchester. How sore of a loser are you?”

"Dunno," Dean states with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, "I’ve never lost."

Something flashes in Castiel’s eyes, quick and challenging, and then he’s tugging the box out of Dean’s hands and settling himself onto the couch as he says, “Well then, shall we find out?”

At first Dean thinks Castiel is bluffing. It’s not that he doubts Castiel’s ability to play, but what he underestimates is the guy’s expert skills in strategy. And really, Dean thinks, there can’t be all that much thought put into how to set up a few plastic ships. But after four rounds of losing by an embarrassing amount of hits, Dean realizes there may be more to it then he remembers.

In an attempt to keep his dignity intact Dean suggests they move on to Guess Who, which was a favorite of his and Sam’s when they were younger, but Castiel wins each round of that game as well, guessing Dean’s character after only two or three questions.

"How are you doing that?" Dean demands after their third round of still having half his board up when Castiel correctly guesses his character.

Castiel shrugs. “Process of elimination,” he answers, “ _strategy_.”

"Strategy my ass," Dean mumbles.

When all the Guess Who pieces are tucked away in their box Dean finally reaches for LIFE. When he holds it up for Castiel to see he’s got a wide grin on his face. “Not much room for strategy in this one, babe,” Dean states as he opens the box and pulls out the board, “it’s just pure. Dumb. Luck.”

They set up the game and pick their cars, Castiel going for the white car and Dean grabbing the car he’d painted black at eleven years old to look more like the Impala. He gives the car a small smile, a lot of its paint having rubbed off with age, and sets it on the board next to Castiel’s and then the game begins.

About an hour later Dean wins the game with over a million dollars in his bank and a husband and three daughters rolling around the board with him in the makeshift Impala. Castiel chuckles, like he can’t believe he actually lost, but Dean doesn’t let it dampen the swell of victory in his chest.

By the time they’ve put the remaining pieces of LIFE away the sun is dipping below the horizon, silvery specks beginning to twinkle in the sky, and the snow has finally stopped falling.

They dig out enough ingredients to make homemade pizzas, crack open a few beers, and put  _The Final Frontier_  on to play in the background, Dean grumbling about having to rewind the tape and Castiel making a comment about the fact that they even own a VCR in the first place.

Making pizzas with Cas doesn’t take long even though Dean does most of the work while Castiel goes through a couple of beers and eats most of the toppings before they can go on the pizza. They banter back and forth over whether there’s more sexual tension between Kirk and Spock or Kirk and McCoy and by the time the pizzas are out of the oven Castiel’s on his fourth beer and Dean’s rolling his eyes at the other man’s accusations that Kirk and McCoy definitely have a thing for each other.

They make their way through the pizzas, Castiel eating significantly less than Dean, but downing a few more beers, and when the credits for  _The Final Frontier_  roll Dean can feel his body begin to wear down with the knowledge that the day is coming to an end.

He and Castiel clean up their dishes and then Dean trudges over to their bed, stripping out of his clothes, leaving nothing but his boxer briefs on, and collapsing in a heap in the middle of the bed, facedown.

"Ugh," he groans, "I’m pooped. Lying around all day is hard work."

His eyelids feel heavy, his body melting into the mattress, and sleep sits tauntingly at the edges of his brain. He shifts into a more comfortable position and then allows his body to relax with absolutely no intentions of moving for the rest of the night. Castiel will have to make due with what’s left of the bed.

After a few seconds Castiel, also in nothing but his skivvies, joins him, rolling Dean onto his back and letting his eyes roam appreciatively over Dean’s mostly naked body.

 ” _Dean_ ,” Castiel chides lightly, the barest of smiles on his face as he eyes Dean’s slightly swollen belly. Dean scowls at the other man and rubs his hands over his stomach protectively.

"Shuddup," Dean counters, "I was hungry."

At that a smirk pulls at Castiel’s lips and he bends over to press gentle kisses into Dean’s soft mid-section. After a few seconds he bites down gently on Dean’s pudge and Dean lets out a strangled yelp, batting at Castiel’s head with his fingers.

"Dammit, Cas," he grumbles, "don’t do that."

He stares up into Castiel’s blue eyes, a hint of a smirk hidden behind their drunken shine, as the other man comes to lean over him then, their faces just inches apart.

"Dean," Castiel says again, his breath warm and ghosting out over Dean’s lips, his voice heavy with intent, "let’s have sex."

Dean opens his mouth to protest, but only gets out, “Ca-” before Castiel is lowering his head until his lips are colliding with Dean’s in a lazy, openmouthed kiss. Dean’s hands move up of their own accord, coming to cup Castiel’s face and Castiel moans into the kiss as his tongue finds its way inside Dean’s mouth.

After a beat they pull apart, Castiel leaning over to dig some lube out of their night stand and then tugging Dean’s underwear off, letting them drop to the floor with a quiet  _swish_. Positioning himself over Dean, Castiel props himself on his hands and knees and dips his head so that his lips gently brush across Dean’s nose.

He kisses at Dean’s jaw and neck, biting gently here and there despite Dean’s request for him not to do so, and then moves his lips down Dean’s body in a sloppy trail, small hickeys blooming in his wake. He rests his weight on Dean’s stomach as he bends himself over and sucks at Dean’s nipples and Dean pulls in a gasp, a bolt of pleasure shooting through him, waking him up a little and causing his dick to begin to harden.

By the time Castiel is kissing once again at Dean’s pudge, Dean is fully hard and ready to go, an impatience growing inside of him that makes him twitch under Castiel’s touch.

Castiel looks up at him with a smirk as he pops the cap on the bottle of lube, “Knew you’d get with the program,” he comments and then he’s coating his fingers and tossing the lube to the side as he settles himself between Dean’s legs.

Dean readies himself for the feel of a slick finger to slide inside of him, but it doesn’t immediately come. Instead Castiel is smiling down at Dean’s cock, drunken and loose, and saying, “So pretty.”

"Cas," Dean bites out, "c’mon, move it along down there." Because now that Castiel’s gotten him in the mood Dean’s practically aching for it.

Castiel bends down and drops a soft kiss to the tip of Dean’s erection and then he presses his pointer finger into Dean’s heat as far as it will go. Dean wills himself to relax around the feeling and pretty soon Castiel is scissoring him open with two fingers and adding a third until Dean is good and open.

He twists his fingers, brushing against Dean’s prostate, making Dean writhe against the sheets, and then Castiel is pulling them out, wiggling out of his underwear, and slicking himself up. It only takes a couple of seconds before Castiel is nudging at Dean’s legs, placing his hands under each knee and pushing until Dean’s thighs are hitting his stomach.

"Careful, baby," Dean grunts as he moves his hands to rest where Castiel’s had just been, "I’m pretty stuffed."

"No," Castiel responds with a knowing smile as he lines himself up, "but you’re about to be."

Dean makes an attempt to roll his eyes, but then Castiel is pushing inside of him, slow and steady, and all of Dean’s senses hone in to the feeling of Cas filling him up, pushing in until his hips are hitting Dean’s thighs and giving validity to his previous statement.

"Oh," Castiel gasps as he bottoms out, as if the feel of being inside Dean is a brand new pleasure for him. He takes a few seconds to breathe, which Dean is grateful for because he needs a few of his own, and then he begins thrusting into Dean with a focused determination.

"C’mon- baby-" Dean grates out as Castiel fucks into him, quick and dirty, " _harder_.” He wraps his bowed legs around Castiel, hooking his ankles together, giving Cas a new angle so that he brushes against Dean’s prostate more often than not, causing Dean to see stars and practically itch for release.

Castiel keeps up this pace until an orgasm is building low in Dean’s gut and he’s clenching down around Castiel in warning. Castiel seems to understand, reaching between them and wrapping knowing fingers around Dean’s length, jacking Dean in time with his thrusts and carrying Dean over the edge, Dean’s release coming out in strips along his stomach and chest.

Dean lets out a sigh, his limbs growing loose and heavy once more, and after a few more thrusts Castiel is coming inside of him, a low rumble of, “Oh, oh, oh,” falling from his lips as he shakes through his climax. Dean’s hands rise to rest on the other man’s sides to steady him and when Castiel blinks his eyes open and looks down at Dean he gives him a lazy smile.

"That was enjoyable," Castiel states as if they’ve just shared a quiet walk in the park together and Dean shakes his head with a chuckle.

"Yeah, Cas," he agrees, "enjoyable."

Castiel shifts slightly, reaching out a hand to pull some tissues from the box on their night stand, and runs them over Dean’s chest and torso, wiping up the mess Dean made. He drops them off the side of the bed and then settles himself on top of Dean, pushing his nose against Dean’s temple and sighing as Dean wraps his arms around Castiel’s back.

"Love you, babe," Dean mutters quietly.

"I know," Castiel responds.

Dean lets out a little laugh and scratches lightly down Castiel’s back stopping only when Castiel’s breathing grows slow and heavy.

"Hey," Dean says with a light jab at Castiel’s ribs making the other man jump, "you gonna stay inside me all night?"

"Yes," Castiel answers tiredly.

"No way, Cas," Dean protests, "I can’t sleep like this. Not all night."

"Few more minutes, Dean," Castiel counters, his words slurred with sleep and too much beer, "s’so warm."

Dean opens his mouth to protest, but Castiel moves to fix his lips over Dean’s, muttering against them again, “Few more minutes.”

Dean lets out a defeated huff then and lets his head fall back into the pillows.

"Fine," Dean finally grumbles, "a few more minutes."

Of course, a few more minutes turns into several hours, but with Castiel warm on top of him, a comforting weight pressed against him from head to toe, Dean really can’t complain all that much. 

 


End file.
